Sunday, August 30, 2009

Mother has been manning the phones, Father has been working and trying to forget, Sister and I are watching over the two of them, trying to make sure neither of them breaks.

Never thought my sister would play that role.

But she is.

It's nice.

Funeral arrangements were done on Friday, my mother and I driving around, me keeping her distracted, helping her when she needed help, making my usual dry-humored comments when (vaguely) appropriate.

My father is running on autopilot, like he does, like I do. Self-enforced training to never shut down no matter what happens. To keep moving forward because the world isn't going to stop for you to mourn.

We had a couple of interesting conversations about that in the last few days, him and I.

And my mother and I had further conversations regarding that.

It's odd, how much he holds back from her, how much he tells me. Because we're so alike, because he knows I'll understand and he doesn't want to worry his wife.

Not entirely sure what to think about that, but I'll come to a conclusion eventually.

... ... ...

Hit up Craigslist last night in an effort to find a single-serving writing buddy for a project I am working on. Ended up bunking down at a nearby Denny's with this ex-jock with views so opposite mine as to be the start of a sitcom.

The night turned into a three hour conversation regarding sex.

But not in that way that conversations turn to sex because both parties are interesting and trying to rile up the other and keep thoughts on sex, but actually him just being blown away and fascinated by my history and being unable to wrap his brain around it.

He was so concerned about me. Incredibly concerned that I was not learning from my "mistakes" and I was placing myself in danger with GV8. He was trying so hard to convince me that I should just go to school, like I am, and pick out a nice guy from the grad program. A normal guy.

Like a nice, normal guy would be desirable to me.

And he was like, "Oh, just try it. Learn to like him."

Because it's better to be with someone normal and healthy so you can feign those symptoms than to be with someone that works for you. Got it.

Also the suggestion of therapy.

That suggestion... gyeh. I don't like it. It's essentially telling a person that A) something is wrong with them that needs to be fixed and they can't do it on their own and B) the person suggesting it is a model of health that can look down from above and pronounce those people around him as healthy or unhealthy, depending on his worldview.

While it wasn't a hostile evening, it was certainly one of him being captivated (his own words) by me and my life, but condemning it at the same time. He couldn't stop reading my notes.

I hate being told that something is wrong with me.I hate being told that there's only one way to be.

He told me there was only one way of being healthy. And that enjoying rough sex was a sign of psychological issue, that normal, healthy people would not engage in BDSM activities, that no one actually liked that stuff.

And people have these views. They actually do. This guy was a smart dude, UCLA grad, double major, polisci and something else that I don't remember. Ex-jock so he knows the wildness that kids get up to.

But he couldn't get it in his head that there are other ways to be.

And not one universal definition of psychologically healthy.

Frustrating, annoying, almost hurtful.

I wish I hadn't been so tired.

Afterwards, he sent me an email, sending me a link to something he was telling me about. And a note apologizing to me that if I had been looking for someone to hook up that night, he's sorry that he couldn't oblige, but he's not that kind of guy.

I looked at this email and was like, "Did you completely not pay attention? Did our conversations just go over your head??"

It was frustrating. Veiled insults, sarcasm, total dismissal that sex could be healthy, telling me that people couldn't possibly drop their lives at my feet like they do so often, deriding more often than not. And so judgemental without realizing it. Masking that judgement in concern.

He was so incredibly messed up about himself, about sexuality. Just a tangle of knots secured by education and religion. One way to be.